Dream a Little Dream of Me

9.05.2010

I like to think that I'm a better person than I am. But the internet makes it so very hard. I find myself looking at how people I used to know are doing on facebook. Do they have great jobs, get cast in shows, how good are their blogs, resumes, etc. It's so fucking easy. But really I should be focusing on myself, my work, my journey. It's so easy to focus on anything but yourself.

Today for example: I have a shit ton to do, namely revise my training deck for our newbie, write a rehearsal debrief for my theatre blog, exercise, get food from target, do the dishes, clean the kitchen floor, vacuum, etc. Instead, I'm stalking people on the internet and comparing myself to them.

Really I just need to get off my ass and do something and not sit around this apartment like I did for most of today and yesterday!

4.24.2010

It's weird. I'm "babysitting" and just listening to my "belle and sebastian" pandora station. Up late chilling to music and I don't know... It's raining outside and it reminds me of sitting up late listening to music in FL, back when I was in high school. It would be mega late, and I'd be tired, but completely alert.

I don't really know what's going on with me this week, but I just feel awake in a way that I haven't in a really long time. Like a huge fog has lifted, and I'm standing on the edge of something completely new. I've been spending a lot of the last few months alone with myself. I haven't been writing, I haven't been working terribly hard, I haven't been doing much of anything. Just sitting, silently, waiting for things to sort themselves out.

And then something shifted. I started working out?! I started these bar method classes that I've been thinking about taking since january, and I just did it. And now I'm going 4-5 times a week. I was never this on top of this stuff even when I was in ROTC and I had peer pressure to force me to go.

But that's not the change it's just a symptom of something else. Maybe if I sit silently long enough I'll find out what's up.

When I have struggled through three hundred yearsof Roman history, and hastened o'erSome French play-(though I have my private fearsOf flunking sorely when I take the floorIn class),-when I have steeped my soul in goreAnd Greek, and figured over half a reamWith Algebra, which I do (not) adore,How shall I manage to compose a theme?

It's well enough to talk of poor and peers,And munch the golden apples' shiny core,And lay a lot of heroes on their biers;-While the great Alec, knocking down a score,Takes out his handkerchief, boohoo-ing, "More!"-But harshly I awaken from my dream,To find a new,-er,-privilege,-in store:How shall I manage to compose a theme?

After I've swallowed prophecies of seers,And trailed Aeneas from the Trojan shore,Learned how Achilles, after many jeers,On piggy Agamemnon got to sore,And heard how Hercules, Esq., toreAround, and swept and dusted with a stream,There's one last duty,-let's not call it bore,-How shall I manage to compose a theme?

Envoi

Of what avail is all my mighty lore?I beat my breast, I tear my hair, I scream:"Behold, I have a Herculean chore.How shall I manage to compose a theme?"ee cummings